Boy Meets Alien
by lies-d
Summary: After seeing a Sex Ed video in class, Zim gets an idea.
1. Prologue

Prologue

            Spuddy stared at the window, unable to sleep.

            People didn't believe that he had a little green friend.  When he'd tried to tell them about it two years ago, they'd sent him to see a doctor, who talked to him a lot and gave him little white pills that made him sleepy.  

            He didn't talk about it to anyone anymore, but he knew that his little green friend would be coming for a visit again soon.  He could feel it in his toenails.  

            It had been a few months since the last visit, and for days he had been on his guard, waiting for it to happen again.  Using a mirror to peek around every corner he intended to turn, looking into shadow-filled alleys as he passed, staying up nights on end for fear that he would awaken with that hideous face looming over him and ranting, _ranting_, _RANTING!!!_

            A bug crawled out from under Spuddy's hat, and then back in again.  He ignored it, his eyes glued to the window.  

            When a green head poked out from behind the curtains, Spuddy didn't even flinch.  The window was open; it was useless to close it against him.  He'd tried boarding up the window in his last house, before the doctor insisted it was only aggravating his 'delusions.'  He'd finally convinced his parents to move into this new house across town, but, well, that hadn't worked very well either, had it?

            A body soon followed the head, rolling clumsily out of the windowsill onto the carpet.  Dark muttering could already be heard.  Dusting himself off, he rose, and, finding Spuddy, turned to continue his ravings even louder. 

            ". . .I couldn't _believe _it!  He was just all like. . ._grrr. . .And they all laughed like hideous little. . ._raaargh!_. . .Three years I've been trying to defeat him. . .He thinks he's so. . .__grrrr. . .that. . .__Dib!!"  The green kid flailed his arms in the air and stamped his feet.  "I'm sooo going to. . ._arr!_. . ._errr!_. . ."  He made a strangling motion.  "Squish his __big fat head. . ._Aaargh!!_"_

            The ranting went on for about twenty minutes, during which Spuddy could make out nearly the exact same litany he'd been hearing for the last three years, comprising mostly of the words _hideous, doom, hate, _and _Dib._  By the end of it the air around the green kid had been thoroughly punched, beaten, strangled, kicked, and otherwise mutilated.  Even one unfortunate piece of clothing that had been within reach now lay ripped and well-stomped on the floor.  

            Not that the ranting ever quite ended.  Around twenty minutes after he'd arrived, Spuddy's green visitor always turned back to the window and climbed out, still muttering and cursing to himself.  For all Spuddy knew, he never stopped, only came to rant specifically at _him_ every so often.  Spuddy tried not to think too much about it anymore.  It made his brain itch.  

Feeling that a large and heavy weight had been lifted from his chest (only to be perched again just overtop of his head, dangling ominously over him all the time all the time all the time until one day he knew it would just drop and he would EXPLODE), Spuddy laid back down in bed, covered up, and settled in for a night full to the brim of nightmares featuring a hideous faceless entity names _Dib._


	2. Boy Meets Alien Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Ms. Bitters was deathly quiet today.  

The pinched old woman sat stonily at her desk, her hands knotted in front of her, staring resolutely ahead.  The air about her reeked particularly of _doom _today, enough so to make every hair on every neck within ten feet stand up.  She stayed this way until quite awhile after the last student had shuffled in.  Sensing some impending, unknown _horror_, the children also remained still and silent.  After five minutes Mary leaned over her desk to whisper to Chunk.  She hadn't gotten her mouth halfway open before Ms. Bitters stood up, pointed at the girl and barked, "Shut up!!"

Mary's mouth now tightly closed, Ms. Bitters sat back down and resumed her tense position.  

After another minute or so, the panel on the edge of the Ms. Bitters's desk slid open, and a yellow disk, wreathed in flames, rose up from within.  The class video screen lowered in front of the blackboard with a deeper, more unnatural boom than it did for the informative grammar cartoons.  

Ms. Bitters stood up.

The class gasped in dread anticipation.

Plucking the disk between thumb and forefinger as one might a phlegm-covered rag, Ms. Bitters inserted it into her computer.  The videoscreen flared to life.

Ms. Bitters scurried out of the room, the door slamming behind her just in time for the words "Sexual Education: A Very Special Journey" to flash across the screen in flowery script.  

The students howled, hooted, blushed and giggled.  Rob stuck his finger in his mouth and made gagging noises.  

Dib yawned, trying to act bored – he and Gaz had gotten 'the talk' from their Dad when he was six, although it had been much more dry and fact-laden than this dewey monstrosity was bound to be.  Instead, he occupied himself with watching Zim, and making sure that the alien wasn't hatching any devious plots.  The last one had been perilously close to succeeding, though Dib had foiled it in the end with a letter to the local librarian, a very tasty piece of cake, and a well-aimed Elvis statuette. After three years of trying to conquer Earth, Zim still hadn't given up, and Dib continued in his steadfast vow to stop him at every turn. 

Zim leaned back casually in his chair, trying to absorb this new gush in the neverending stream of useless human knowledge, and balance a pencil on his lip at the same time, but to Dib it sure looked like some devious hatchey-plan-hatching-plotting-pose…thingy.  He leaned his head sideways on his hand in his favourite Zim-watching position.  Until the absolute hideousness of the video finally got his attention, that is.

For something that had seen the transfer to digital file, the video was unbelievably outdated – the thing must have been around since Ms. Bitters' schooldays.  Two feathery-haired youths in bellbottoms stared coyly at each other while a lilting monologue droned on about 'special feelings.'  

The documentation of their developing relationship continued, and soon they were holding hands on a summer stroll, then kissing shyly in a grassy park, and then touching and fondling each other on a blanket, in the shade of a tree.  

Next they had all their clothes off and were writhing enthusiastically against each other.  

Other visual aids were added to the presentation – diagrams and such, but bizarrely it kept cutting back to the scene of the two teenagers wriggling away on their blanket.  

By the time the light went back up and Ms. Bitters came back in, there wasn't a human leg uncrossed in the entire classroom.  

"And that, children, is the process by which society hopes two people begin the process of mutual enslavement and propagation of our already cancerously growing species," she paused as she noted Zim was about to snap a few tendons from reaching into the air as far as he could stretch.  ". . .yes, Zim?"

"What was that you said about slavery, Ms. Bitters?"

Ms. Bitters raised her eyebrow.  As she seemed prone to doing (especially when the comment given was a particularly stupid one), now that she'd given her student a chance to speak, she completely ignored him and continued on with her lecture about hopelessness, horror, and inevitable _doom_, leaving Zim to stew in his own burning juices of curiosity.  

Fortunately for Zim, Dib was for the moment a bit distracted, staring up at the ceiling with a beet red face, trying desperately to think non-writhing-related thoughts: puppies. . .grease-pits at McMeaty's. . .Dad in a bathing suit. . . Arg – damn his fourteen-year-old hormones!  

Dib didn't seem to notice that the 'weird green kid' in the other corner _was_ actually (and obviously) hatching a plan, his gloved fingers steepled before him, an evil grin spreading over his face, and a low chuckle earning him odd looks from the few kids closest to him.

*******

Later that afternoon, in the comfort of his base, Zim tried to piece together what he remembered of the class video, and research his new theory.  Ten video screens cued to search topics 'sex' lit up the room with lambent, explicit shows.  Most of them were occupied with slapping flesh of many kinds, a select few of them portraying faces in various stages of entrancement, ecstasy, and/or pain.  Altogether, over 35 trillion references were returned, far too many for Zim to examine them all at any length, but after four hours of sampling bytes Zim felt he could make a few conclusions.  

1)  Human sex was bizarre and horrifying  

2)  Humans were absolutely, slavishly obsessed with sex.  

Still no conclusive evidence, however, of the hypothesis he'd formed earlier in class.  Sifting through the glut of sound, video, and text information was pointless.  He needed to consult an expert, someone who knew their way intimately around the subject.  

Pulling Minimoose off of the phone, where Gir had stuck him in his latest scotch-tape adventure, Zim looked up one more subject on the computer, picked up the receiver, and began to dial.  

*******

It had been a slow night for Gladys.  The one call she'd gotten earlier had only lasted for about three minutes (she hated those kinda guys), just long enough for her to miss the cataclysmic Ted and Maria break-up scene on 'Hearts of Desire' that she had been predicting to her friends for months.  Now that there was nothing on but reruns of 'The Scary Monkey Show', there hadn't been so much as a telemarketer's call.  Gladys took off one of her slippers to rub her bunion and stuffed another cheesy-poop into her mouth.

            The phone rang.

            Scrambling, Gladys fished the remote out of the couch cushion where it had fallen, muted the TV, forced the cheesy-poop, half-chewed, down her throat, and picked up the receiver.

            "Hello there, big boy."  She'd lowered her voice to 'ultra sultry,' but the crumbs in her throat mangled her voice into sounding more like a fish schooner captain.  _Damn_ – the last time that'd happened, she'd gotten a yelp, a hangup, and a good firm talking-to from her supervisor about eating cheesy-poops on the job.  

            Surprisingly, the guy on the other line only cleared his throat, sounding a bit impatient. 

            "Yes, yes, greetings.  The craver of credit card numbers said you would tell me all I need to know about sex."

            Gladys blinked.  "Sure thing, honey.  I'll tell you whatever you want to hear."

            "Good.  Now tell me," the guy's voice lowered to a whisper.  "Is it possible to use sex as a weapon of. . .enslavement?"

            Some people had the strangest fetishes, but in all actuality, this one was nowhere near the strangest one Gladys had encountered in her time.  She cleared her throat, and tried 'medium forceful.'

            "Absolutely."  A bit unsure of where he wanted to go with it, Gladys hoped the guy on the other line would take the lead.

            "Exxxcellent."  He sounded pretty excited now.  Fantastic – these bondage types could go on forever.  

"Now."  The guy whispered heatedly. "Tell me the secret. . ._tell me!"_


	3. Boy Meets Alien Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Now feeling sufficiently enlightened, and not a little queazy, Zim hung up the phone.  

Perfect.  Absolutely perfect.  It was a shame he hadn't acquired this knowledge until now – he'd have had earth under his thumb ages ago.  But it couldn't be helped – the custom of forbidding the information to children until they'd reached a certain age was probably a wise one.  One could only imagine what could be done with this power in the hands of the wrong person.  

It was so simple.  All he needed to do to enslave a human was to have sex with it.  

True, the procedure was a bit. . .distasteful.  Zim leafed through the notes he'd taken from his 'consultant.'  Irkens didn't have sex, so of course he didn't have the human appendages she'd described so luridly – or at least not a male appendage, though a quick check of the biological charts on his computer confirmed that he did have an entrance in the right place that would be serviceable as a female part.  Once he had a big enough cadre of human slaves at his command, he could use them to conquer the rest of earth through some other means.   

And who?  _Who _would he like to have at his very first human lapdog, to humiliate and torture as he chose?  

Zim's smile turned to a toothy grin, and soon his maniacal laughter could be heard echoing through the neighborhood. Across town, at the same moment, Spuddy shivered and clutched his teddy bear closer in the night, wetting it with his tears.

*******

Dib was woken up very suddenly when his sheets and then his pajama bottoms were torn off of him, leaving him exposed and undefended against Zim's rude fumbling.  

Screaming, Dib threw Zim halfway across the room with the strength of a person in mortal peril.  Zim rose up on his spider legs and tried again to bear down on him, but Dib grabbed his bedside lamp and, swinging it wildly, was able to keep Zim a few feet at bay. 

"Daaad!!!  Gaaaz!!!!  Rape! – I mean – Fire!!!!  I mean - SOMEBODY HELP ME!!!!"

            Zim grinned.  "It's no use, _Dib_.  Your father's staying the night at his lab, and I've sent Gir to dispatch with your sister."

            "What have you done to her, Zim?  Gaaaz!  Gaaaaz!!"

            *****

"Gaaaaz!!"

Burrowed in a glowing tent under her covers, Gaz glanced up from her GameSlave™ to Gir, who was seated across from her.  He'd removed the head of his doggie suit, and was using the flashlight glow of his eyes to read one of her Piggy Vampire Slayer comics.  

            "Is Zim doing something to my brother?" she asked, without the faintest hint of concern.  

            Gir turned a page nonchalantly.  "Nooooo."

            Gaz paused her game for a moment to do some thumb stretches.

            "Is it something horrible?"

            Gir turned the comic to read it upside down.

            "Yessss."

            Gaz finished her thumb exercises and resumed her game, the faintest flicker of a smile crossing her face.

            *****

            Making one last rush, Zim plucked the lamp from Dib's hands and flung it away.

            "It's just you and me, _Dib._"

            Dib threw everything within grabbing distance, but Zim dodged it all, and he found himself helplessly being backed into a corner – the one furthest from the door.  Finally, Zim dropped back to floor level and used his mechanical legs instead to draw Dib into a crushing embrace.  

            Dib squirmed and twisted wildly in an effort to free himself, but it was useless.  Zim walked them both to the bed and began to shred Dib's pajamas in preparation for what Dib assumed were the unspeakable acts he was about to perform.

            "No, wait!  Zim!  What are you doing?  In the name of all that's meaty, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?"  

            Zim loosened Dib enough to look him face to face.  

            "I thought that was obvious, stink-monkey."  Zim leaned over to lick Dib's ear, and even though they both shuddered, Zim recovered quickly enough.  "I thought making sex was one of you earthenoids' favourite sports."  

            Zim leaned in for another lick.

            "WAAIT!! WAAAIT!!!  You can't. . .you can't just. . ."  Panicked, Dib tried desperately to think quickly.  "You. . .you're doing it all wrong!"

            Loosing the embrace again just a bit, Zim leaned up.  

            "What?  Is this not the way that humans make sex?  We're on a bed, and the clothes are almost off.  Ah - you must be impatient for the wiggling part.  Very well."  Zim began to rub his body against Dib's own, causing the bed to rock ever so slightly.

            "Nooooo!!!" Dib cried, "I mean – no!  You have to. . .wait!  We can't just. . .make sex.  Don't you know anything, Zim?  We have to. . .have dinner first, at least.  And see a movie."

            "I've had dinner already.  And I saw a movie last week."

            "Together, I mean.  And we have to. . .hug first, and hold hands and all that. . .stuff in the video."  Zim loosened his grip ever so slightly, so Dib went on.  "Trust me, Zim, I'm a human I should know that this isn't the way that humans do this kind of thing."

            Zim stared at Dib for a moment, thinking.  Dib tried not to appear as desperate as he was.  

His decision made, Zim flung Dib towards the bedroom door.  

            "Fine.  There's still time to go to a late-at-night movie place.  And there are lots of greasefood-pits still open."

            Struggling to keep his shredded pajamas on, Dib stumbled and crawled his way out the door and through towards the stairs.  Zim followed at ever step, shoving and prodding mercilessly.  Finally, Dib got up and shoved Zim back. 

            "Would you just hold on!  You obviously don't know what you're doing, so just listen before you really mess this up!"

            The two stared each other down, Dib panting and frightened, Zim annoyed and indignant.  Dib didn't know why Zim was suddenly so eager to wiggle around on the bed with him – franky he didn't care.  If he could only buy some time he was sure he could think of a way out of this.  When it seemed that Zim wasn't going to make the next move, Dib spoke.  

            "If we're going to do this, we need to do it properly.  That means we need some time to get ready – at the very least a day."  Dib wiped the sweat from his brow and tried to gather as much dignity as the scraps of his clothing would allow.  "Tomorrow night, 6-ish.  We meet for dinner.  Not fast food – someplace nice.  Chez Petey's, maybe.  Then we go out for a movie – it doesn't matter which. . ."

            "Why not?"  Zim demanded.

            "Why not what?"

            "Why does it matter where we go to eat but not where we go for a movie?"

            "Look, that's just the way it is, Zim," Dib snapped peevishly.  "After the movie we come back here and. . ._do it_.  We'll just have to be quiet - Dad will be down in his lab, if he's here at all, but Gaz will probably still be up playing her Gameslave™."

            Zim crossed his arms.

            "Acceptable.  It is, as you humans say, a deal."  He stuck out his hand, which Dib shook unflinchingly.

            "Actually, it's a date.  But whatever."

Zim pulled out his communicator and ordered Gir around to Dib's window.  Before he leapt out onto the hovering robot henchman, Zim turned from his perch on the windowsill, an unnerving grin spread across his face.

"One more thing, _Dib_.  When we shook hands I planted a microscopic poison bomb that's now burrowed it's way deep into your organs.  I fully expect to meet you tomorrow at Chez Petey's to have it deactivated, or you will face the poisoney consequences.  Mwahahahahahahahaaaa."

Zim's laughter faded into the night as he rode away on his plushie dog.  

Dib watched the exhaust trail dissipate.  Then he too smiled.  He had a plan.  For now, though, he was in dire need of a shower…****


	4. Boy Meets Alien Chapter 3

Chapter 3

            Dib yawned into his steak.  He'd been up most of the night putting his plan into place and trying to remove the poison bomb that Zim had implanted in him.  It turned out that according to his father's instruments, Zim's 'poison' wasn't really poison at all – at least not to humans, that was.  It was actually a substance very similar to creamed corn – though possibly fatal in very large amounts, the stuff was not really very harmful at all in such a small dose.  Likely it was a very potent poison to Irkens, however.  No wonder Zim avoided the stuff in the cafeteria like black, pus-spewing death.  Dib had stored the information away for later use, and let Zim gloat through his 'de-poisoning' procedure. 

            Not that Dib was planning to skip out on their 'date,' but he hated the thought of giving Zim the satisfaction of thinking he'd forced him.  

            Zim sat across from Dib, poking at his fillet-o-meal with the same distain he had for all human food.  It appeared that Zim had done a little more research on the human concept of dating.  The tuxedo he wore was surprisingly well cut, even though it was made from the same odd-looking red synthetic material that made up his uniform, and his ever-present pak was still there.  The flowers that Zim had brought for him Dib had quickly tossed into a passing waiter's soup cauldron when no one was looking.  Dib only hoped that no one had seen Zim give them to him.  The taste of freesias couldn't hurt the soup all _that_ much.  

            "So.  Zim.  I was wondering.  I mean, I now why _I_ want to. . .  I'm human and it's just something that humans do.  But why you?  Do Irkens even have sex?  And why with me?"

            Zim glared up at him.  "Irkens do not normally have sex, no.  This is. . .an attempt to better understand the human condition.  And I have chosen you because. . .it is my understanding that it is the custom to have sex with someone you know.  I know you better than any other human on this stink, er, this planet."

            Dib didn't believe Zim for a nanosecond, but who could guess what was going through that twisted alien brain at any one point, so he let it rest.  It's not like he actually intended to actually have sex tonight, so whatever Zim's plans were, they were sure to fail. 

            "Has it ever occurred to you that we're both boys?  I mean. . .not that it isn't done or anything, but it's not. . .the most usual way of doing it."

            "To remind you of what you've been shouting out to the world for about for the past three years, _Dib_ – I'm.  Not.  Human," Zim hissed.  "Irkens are not, by your standards, either male or female.  Some have. . .residual traits.  Most do not."

            "Okay.  Sooo. . .I mean. . .are we going to. . .fit?"  Dib was caught between disgust and fascination at the thought of how Zim was built, and what their 'fitting' might entail.  
            "As long as your flesh tentacle isn't somehow freakishly big in proportion to the rest of you, like your head is, we will manage."

            Still digesting this information (probably better than he was digesting his horrible food), Dib let the head comment slide.  

            The rest of supper passed in silence.      When it was time to go, they paid for their meals separately, and headed towards one of the Super-Poop movie complexes nearby.  

After a debate that nearly ended in a brawl, they decided to see _Six Teenagers in a Haunted Place Again_, which was turning out to be quite a spring blockbuster.  It was playing in twenty theatres, so they got to pick the one that was the least populated.  

Fifteen minutes into the movie Zim was hurling popcorn at the screen, screaming at the vapid lead characters in warning of their obvious, imminent _doom._  What few patrons there were in the theatre left, and thought he caught a few of their glares on the way out, Dib was glad that there wasn't anyone around anymore to witness this embarrassing 'date.'  

Halfway through the movie, Zim reached around the armrest to grab his hand.  On impulse, Dib tried to snatch it away, but Zim was too quick and his grip was tight enough to crack Dib's knuckles.  

"You yourself said that we have to 'hold hands.'  So, we might as well get it over with while we're watching the movie," said Zim.  

"Yeah.  Fine." Dib winced.  "Would you just ease up a little bit on the grip?"  

Zim complied, though rather reluctantly, seeming to relish in Dib's obvious discomfort.  

For once without the long gloves the he always wore, Zim's hand was cool and slender.  The movie was about as engrossing as an accounting textbook, and Dib couldn't help being interested in how different the alien's hand was from that of a human.  Besides the fact that it only had three fingers, the structure itself felt odd in his grip.  The skin was smooth, with no trace of crease-marks or prints.  The fingernails were thick, and rough, and the bones were long and thinner than normal.  Although Dib knew from recent experience that it was strong, it felt as though he could break the hand with a single squeeze.  Dib couldn't resist – he squeezed hard.

"Hey!"  Zim shot him a dark look, and clutched tighter in retaliation.  Dib squeezed once more, and yet again, so did Zim.  Soon, their grasp was so tight that Dib thought any minute one of his fingers might snap.  They gritted their teeth at each other from across the armrest.  Finally, before it reached a point at which he thought his eyes would start watering, Dib yanked his hand free.

"That's probably long enough," Dib muttered, shaking the feeling back into his hand.

Zim scowled at him.  "You're the expert, stink-beast."

Crossing his arms and turning his attention to the screen, Zim went about ignoring Dib for a good portion of the rest of the movie.  The muttering and occasional shouts of frustration over the lame plotline (with which Dib silently agreed, though he was socially adjusted enough not to go on yelling about it like Zim did) continued on for a short time, until Zim produced an Irken soda from his pak and seemed content to slurp it in peace.  

"You're not supposed to sneak food into the theatre, _Zim_," Dib whispered just for spite.

            Zim shrugged, selective as ever about which earth-rules to follow.  Dib started trying to figure out how he might get ahold of the soda can as further evidence against Zim.  It kept him preoccupied for the remains of the tragically bad movie.

            At last, all but two of the characters, a boy and a girl, of course, had been killed off and the spooky evil thing had been defeated.  The remaining couple realized their love for each other and sucked on each other's faces for a minute or so before the camera panned out to the sunset.  

As the credits began to roll Dib yawned and looked over to Zim.

"Alright, it's time to g– good God!"  

Zim was leaning over the armrest, eyes closed and lips puckered out as far as the little alien could push them, making little fishy sucking motions.

Horrified by the sight, Dib froze.  After a moment of no response, Zim opened one eye.

"Well, are we going to kiss or not?"

"Umm. . .ah," Dib grasped for words.  Zim made the fishy face again.  "No!  Ah, I mean, yes. . .I mean, not here.  Humans don't kiss in movie theatres!"  Counting on Zim's ignorance, Dib hoped that he'd be able to avoid the horrible act it by putting it off until he could carry out his plan.   

"Wait until we get back to my house."

Zim re-crossed his arms sulkily.  "Fine.  Let us make haste, then.  I am eager for this night to be over."  Zim grabbed Dib's sleeve and hauled him to his feet and out of the theatre.  

Gir and Minimoose met them in front, driving the vootcruiser, which was very poorly disguised as a floating mini-van.  

Zim pushed a button on the side of the ship to open the hatch, and stepped aside in a gentlemanly manner to let Dib in first.  He gallantly helped Dib inside with a swift kick to the butt before leaping in himself.  The door closed, and the vootcruiser sped off.

Once inside Dib's house, Gir zeroed in on the TV and Zim broke out the fish lips again.  This time Dib, after a moment of panic, grabbed a nearby vampire piggy doll that Gaz had left out and (he couldn't resist) pressed the butt-end of it to Zim's lips.  Just watching Zim kiss was bad enough – it looked pretty slobbery, and good grief, was that his _tongue?_  Just as Zim pulled away, eyes still closed, Dib whipped the piggy behind his back and put himself in its place. Zim opened his eyes.  Dib grinned nervously.

"Your lips are fuzzier than they look, stink-human."  He wiped a hand carefully across his lips.  "Now that we have concluded with all the formalities, let us retire to your bedroom.  SEX AWAITS US!"

And up they went.  


	5. Boy Meets Alien Chapter 4

Author's Notes:  This is an edited version.  The full version can be found on the IZ slash archive, whose address has been posted on the IZ_slash@yahoo.com mailing list.

The minute they reached the bedroom door, Zim made a wild lunge for Dib's clothes.  Not wanting to have one of his better shirts ruined, Dib offered to take them off himself.  Zim agreed, unwilling to damage his own snazzy threads.  

There was a moment of awkward silence and rustling while the two stood before each other, stripping embarrassedly.  Dib was rather reluctant to fully reveal himself to Zim, but he kept firmly in mind that it would be the last thing Zim would see before being laid out onto an autopsy table.  Finally, Dib carefully folded his glasses onto the dresser, and only his underwear remained between them.  He shifted from heel to toe, very unwilling to part with them, and nervous that he had very little time to do what needed to be done next. The cameras were in place.  The trap was set.  Zim looked ready to latch onto him again, but Dib held him back.

"You're supposed to take off _everything_, Zim."

Dib ran his hands through Zim's hair and tugged lightly, pulling off the bad toupee like he'd wanted to for years.  Zim's antennae rose and proceeded to rub together, no doubt a little chafed at having been confined for so long.  Dib wondered how he did it day in and day out if they were as sensitive as earth insects' antennae were supposed to be.

Next, Dib reached around Zim and tugged at his pak, but at this Zim stepped back.

"Oh no you don't, earth-stink."

_Damn_ - it would have been a lot easier to capture Zim without that pak of his.  Knowing that Zim wasn't intending to budge on that one (seeing as he needed his pak to live), Dib stepped forward and quickly prodded Zim's eyeball before the alien could pull away, shifting his lens a little to one side. 

"All right, all right."  Zim turned aside for a moment to remove the lenses, which he placed on the dresser nearby.  

Dib looked into Zim's glittering red eyes with no small amount of triumph.  He stepped back to examine the rest of him, hoping the cameras he'd set up would be able to get a clear shot.  Red eyes, three fingers, green skin from to top of his antennae to the bottom of his little alien feet.  Nobody could ignore this.  _This _ is what he'd been waiting for his entire life.  

"Heh heh."  Dib gestured smugly toward the spot between Zim's legs.  "You're a girl, Zim." 

Zim cheeks flushed purple.  "Shows what you know, _Dib_."  He stepped forward.  "And for all I know, you could be a girl too."  One long spider leg emerged from Zim's pak, neatly slicing one side of Dib's underwear and leaving them to fall to the floor.  Zim's eyes lowered.  "Hmph.  Guess not."

And with that Zim was upon him again.  He was extremely enthusiastic, or more accurately it seemed to Dib; determined.  He bit and tore and drove himself against Dib in a savage parody of the video they'd seen in class.  Dib mimicked as best he could, running his fingernails up and down the smooth skin of Zim's shoulders, matching bite for bite and shove for shove in their strange, primitive dance.  They shuffled about the room a few times, bumping against furniture and knocking things from shelves.  

Stumbling on a piece of discarded clothing, Dib fell, pulling Zim to the floor on top of him.  Winded; Dib took a moment to catch his breath, during which he could feel the warmth of Zim's skin rubbing against his own, the hands roaming his torso, the tongue lapping at his neck.

It felt disgustingly _good_.  This Dib attempted not to notice - even if certain parts of his anatomy were beginning to think otherwise.  Dib opened his eyes to see Zim grinning down at him.  One hand snaked down between them.

Dib yelped and scrambled to his feet.  Zim wasted little time in latching onto him again, and they resumed their dance to a more frantic tempo as Dib tried desperately to keep Zim's wandering hands away from a certain sensitive area. It was crucial to Dib that Zim end up on the bed, but the way they were staggering around the room, they'd probably only end up falling out of the windowsill sooner or later.  

Deciding to take the initiative, Dib grabbed Zim's slender arms and shoved him firmly onto the bed.  Zim looked taken aback, surprise evident in his crimson eyes. Dib leaned over him, pinning his arms to the bed.  They were both breathing heavily. They stared at each other for a moment.

Zim spread his legs. 

Dib . . . found his body being drawn ever so slowly downwards by a will that was terribly and recognizably his own. 

Zim inched his head up and hesitantly brought his lips to meet Dib's.  Dib felt something slender and snake-like slip into his mouth.  It flicked at his palate and wrapped around his own sluggish tongue.  It tasted like nothing Dib had ever known; almost indefinable by categories of sweet, sour, salty or bitter.  He pressed himself against Zim for more. 

Damn them both, he needed _more_. . .

           *******

Someone was singing.          Singing upstairs.                       Those taquitos were good.

                                                      The Scary Monkey show was over.      

      Singing downstairs?

                  Gir listened for awhile.                                               But the Taquitos!

            His master's base had multi-_planetary_ cable. Whoo!           

            Meanwhile, on the Scary Monkey Show. . .                       

                           Gir wanted to go home and stick waffles up his nose.  Gir decided he liked the song.

_Make sure we're not bothered, Gir!._ . .  Waffles up his toes!!!

It's been over for twenty minutes now. . .ten minutes. . . His toes demanded waffles.              Gir liked to sing songs.  

                         Nothing on but static. . . Gir liked songs that he could remember the words. . . . .to. .  .           Jumping on the couch is fun, too.  

WAFFLES!!!.  .  .  .  .  .  .NO, WAIT!  TAQUITOS!!!!

"Ow.  **Ow.**  Ow.  **Ow.**  Ow.  **Ow.**  Ow. . ."

           *******

Dib stared up at the ceiling.  He was very tired.  _Something_ . . just happened.  The descriptors in his mind ranged from revolting to absolutely brilliant.  He was having a little trouble processing it all.  Zim was lying beside him, propped up on one elbow, staring at him.  He'd pulled up one of the sheets to wipe Dib's sweat off of him, and then arranged it so that they were both covered at the chest.

"It is customary to stay the night, is it not?"

Dib shrugged.  He noted, for the fifteenth time tonight, that Zim's skin was green.

"Do Irkens sleep?" 

Zim ducked beneath the sheet, attending to something between his legs that Dib didn't want to know about.

"No."

"Oh.  Okay." Dib felt he needed some sleep.  He rolled over.  "Just out of curiosity. . .Why are you staying here, then?" Zim pulled the pillow over to his side a bit more.  

"I'm waiting."

Now extremely sleepy, Dib shrugged and closed his eyes.  There was something he was supposed to have done, but he couldn't remember what it was - probably just to throw out the expired milk, or something stupid like that.  As Dib was drifting off, he heard Zim's voice one last time.

"Are you my slave yet?" 

Dib wiped away a string of drool that was forming at the side of his mouth.

"Sure Zim, whatever."


	6. Boy Meets Alien Chapter 5

Author's Note:  Usually I'm annoyed when people do this, but I was so tickled by the reviews I got I think I'm going to take the opportunity to make a hypocrite of myself. . .Thanks to October Bride, ninkira, Tinselcat, ShadowElfBard, Nieni Woodland, blood-raven49, Taleya, PuNkRoCkBuNnY182 (thanks x 4), Silver Neko, DibMagician, Bella12, Celestial Star Mali, firebird5, Raina1, aaand Nastyface.  You don't know how much joy each of your reviews brought to my sad little film student world.  Even the ones that said my story was sick. . .maybe especially the ones that said my story was sick ;)  Hope you like the rest of it.  

Yet another Author's Note:  Watch out, here there be Mpreg. *gasp*

Chapter 5 

Dib awoke up to poking; the poking of a sharp knee in his thigh, actually. Zim was curled up against him, attempting to press against his torso. The alien was rather chill. Dib studied him for a moment before Zim's eyes opened lazily to meet his own. 

"Get me another blanket, earthenoid slave." 

Dib blinked. He unlatched himself from Zim and got up. The sight of the alien curled there, clutching the blanket and nuzzling into the warm spot he'd left, almost compelled him to obey. For once, Zim was completely off his guard. Dib hesitated, stepped back. Zim opened his eyes and glared. 

"NOW, slave. I require another blanket." Dib edged closer to the control panel near the door. Zim narrowed his eyes. 

"I don't think so, Zim." Dib flicked a switch on the panel. Cage doors rose up from each side of the bed. Awoken sharply by his predicament, Zim slipped over the doors before he could be enclosed. 

"WHAT is the meaning of this? You are my SLAVE! OBEY ZIM!!" 

"What do you mean 'your slave'?" 

"We had sex. You are my slave now." 

"That's . . . not the way it works, Zim. Is that . . . is that what this was all about?" Dib gaped for a moment. Then he burst out in loud and ecstatic laughter. 

"Stop that laughing! You are my slave and I order you to stop this instant." 

Dib laughed even harder. 

"That's. . . *snort*. . . the stupidest thing. . . *chuckle*. . . I've ever heard. . . *gasp*!" 

Pride mortally wounded, Zim grabbed at the nearest thing he could reach and hurled it at Dib with all the force he could muster. It turned out to be his underwear, which landed in Dib's hair. Dib, if possible, laughed even harder, nearly falling over as he clutched his aching stomach. Seething, Zim grabbed the rest of his clothes, ran downstairs to collect Gir, and fled back to his base. 

* * * * * * * 

_Seven days later. . . _

Zim hadn't shown his face at school for the last week or so, and Dib could detect no more plots to take over the world. At least, none that had been put into motion yet, but the boy was sure that Zim must be deep in the planning of something even more hideous than any of his previous bids. 

Presently Dib was putting some finishing touch clean-up on one of the few pictures he'd managed to gather from the cameras he'd set up for Zim's 'visit.' He'd cursed himself for his choice of angle - of the cameras that hadn't been knocked down by their pre-'sex' wrangling, the one most prominent shot captured had been of Dib himself. Though it was clear that the body wriggling beneath him wasn't human, he wasn't particularly eager to have the first concrete evidence of extraterrestrial life feature his naked butt . . . especially doing what he'd been doing at the time. Saving the world is all well and good, but there are just some things a fourteen-year-old boy can't show on national television. So he'd pulled a few stills of Zim's face and - just barely - resisted burning the tapes in favour of burying it in a steel lockbox in a lone corner of the backyard. 

This picture just needed a bit more cleaning - its quality had really suffered from being blown up many sizes, and Dib wanted to make sure that Zim's antennae were nice and clear. 

There was a scratching noise at the window. Dib ignored it - probably a bird or something. He didn't see Zim's shadow on the wall until the alien had already put a deathly sharp spatula to his neck. 

"What have you done to me, human?" Dib turned slowly. 

Pale and wasted (save for his bulging stomach) Zim was leaning heavily on the spider-legs protruding from his pak. Bundled sloppily in several layers of blankets, his every breath was labored and erratic. His arm drooped every few seconds, and it seemed as though he was making a valiant effort to stay awake. 

Dib stared. 

"What are you talking about? I didn't do anything! Well, other than . . . what I did. But that was all!" 

Zim scuttled around and grabbed Dib's collar, pulling him close enough to feel the alien's ragged breath. "You're lying. You injected me with poison, or some hideous earthenoid disease. Something you did to me that night has made me . . . like this. My computer doesn't know what's happening, but I'm going to find out if I have to crack open your oversized skull and rip the memory cells out myself." 

"I swear I didn't do anything. . ." 

While trying to figure out what to say to placate the alien, Dib suddenly became aware of the giant bulge in Zim's midsection pressing into him. Even through his own clothes and the blankets and rags Zim had wrapped around himself, he could feel a tremendous heat eminating from the area, as well as a slight . . . squirming movement that couldn't possibly be muscle. Into his mind crept a ghastly, unspeakable thought. 

"Um, Zim, you don't happen to be carrying a heater right here, do you?" Dib pressed his hand lightly into Zim's stomach. Zim swatted the hand away and backed off a few steps. 

"Don't be thick, human." 

Dib began to sweat. 

"Zim . . . Irkens, can't get . . . pregnant . . . can they?" 

Zim pulled his blankets a little tighter around himself. "Pregnant? What is this pregnant - some horrible, infectious disease?" 

Dib wiped his brow. "Almost. It's - it's when you've got a . . . baby, inside you. It's what happens when you have sex, sometimes." 

"_Ridiculous!"_ Zim snorted. "Irken Smeets are born from tubes, not stomachs. . . _arkk_!" Dropping the spatula, Zim keeled to the floor and lay there in a twitching, blanketed heap. 

For a moment or two, Dib could still do very little but stare. He picked up the spatula and poked Zim a few times. Out cold. Still breathing, though. Gingerly, Dib bent to lift Zim from the floor and deposit him on his bed. He eyed the mechanical legs warily, but they remained limply hanging from Zim's pak. Then he stepped back and flipped the switch that raised the cage doors around the bed. 

Then he did a little happy dance. 

This was it. Having nicely delivered himself and passed out on his floor, Zim was finally his to capture. He'd contact the Swollen Eyeball Network™ right away - they'd be here within the hour to take him to a secure lab. There would be officials, and reporters, and dissecting - _oh such dissecting._ Who cares why Zim was so sick - they'd find out one way or another. They'd cut him open and put it in a big jar of formaldehyde . . . 

Even if it was the next member of the Membrane family. 

Dib stopped his dancing. The anxiety that had dissipated at the brief thrill of having finally caught Zim had returned. There was a _chance_, though maybe a small chance, that Zim was somehow, bizarrely and horribly, pregnant. He _had_ said that he wasn't really male - that he wasn't _human._ Who knew how these things worked on his home planet. If he was pregnant, then there was a more than good chance that it was a result of . . . what happened . . . a few nights ago, that . . . whatever was born would be half his. 

Dib kicked Zim's cage in utter frustration. _Why did he always have to go and ruin everything?_ He couldn't just turn him in - either his potential kid would get killed outright, or they'd wait until it was born and subject it to a horrible life of horrible experiments. And he couldn't tell them that it was his because, well, he just couldn't tell them _that_. After a few more moments of fuming, Dib turned and headed out of his room. There was one person who might be able to help. 


	7. Boy Meets Alien Chapter 6

Author's Notes:  Ohhh yeaaah. . .I should probably thank my two wonderful betareaders, Blossom and The Unsquickable Kid at some point.  So. . .thanks, guys. J

Chapter 6

"Um. . . Dad?"  Dib poked his head into his father's basement lab, not wanting to startle him at whatever potentially explodey experiment he was working on. 

"Yes, son?" Engrossed in his study of a large beaker of purple . . . something, Professor Membrane didn't bother to turn.  Dib stepped in and cleared his throat.  _How the heck was he going to explain this?_  

"Um. . . You know how you told me once that. . . if I ever had any problems. . . anything I really needed to talk about. . . if I needed any help. . . you'd, well, help."

"I believe that was given with the proviso that I have time to help, son," said the Professor, "and I'm a little busy right now."  Without turning, he made a little shoo-ing motion with his hand at Dib.  

"But, Dad, this is really important!  . . . You know that green kid in my class?  Well he . . . he and me . . . he's. . ." _Damn_.  This wasn't going to be easy.  Every time Dib said the word 'alien' in front of his father anymore, he merely shook his head, muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'my poor insane son,' and resolutely ignored every subsequent word that came out of his mouth.  

"Son, I would really like to help, but this is an extremely delicate operation and I can't afford to be distracted.  Isn't there anyone else you can talk to about it?"

"No!  It's really . . . complicated, and it's not the kind of thing I really want anyone to know."

"Now son, being homosexual is nothing to be ashamed of."

"What?  No!  I'm not . . . well, um. . . I don't think I am . . . but that's not what I need to talk to you about!"

"Then can't it wait, son?  I just got a fifteen-minute cancellation for next week, and I think I could fit you in, if you don't mind sharing the timeslot with the Mr. Surgeon General."

Dib's brow knit in frustration.  "Look. Dad. I. . . I think _I_ might be a dad soon.  There was . . . something.  Someone might be pregnant.  And it might be mine."

Professor Membrane stopped.  He placed down the liquid he'd been measuring out and turned.  

"Oh, son.  This is very serious."

"I know!  That's why I needed to talk to you.  And I need you to come upstairs and make sure. . . I'm - we'renot sure yet." 

"I see."  

Dib had never seen his father look quite so concerned as he did at that moment, even more so than the time he'd been briefly committed to an insane asylum.  If only he could get him up to see Zim - then he'd have to believe him.  While Dib and his father had been talking, the neglected beaker had begun to violently bubble and hiss.  Professor Membrane turned back in time for it to spew a great cloud of yellow gas into the air.  Pressing a large red button on the side of the counter, the Professor threw the beaker into an opening that appeared on the wall.  He grabbed his son and dove behind a countertop on the other side of the room. 

There was a tremendous explosion that took out most of the opposite wall, sending flames and debris hurtling towards them.  

When the flames died down, Professor Membrane stood up and casually dusted himself off.  Dib struggled to his feet and hobbled to the doorway.  

"So . . .it looks like you're done here, Dad.  Will you pleeease help me now?"

The Professor sighed.  "I guess so, son."

*******

Zim felt a breeze.  He was being undressed.  Too weak to care, or even open his eyes, he submitted peacefully.  Once bare he felt very cold, and proceeded to shiver until he felt the warm weight of several blankets cover him once again.  He wondered vaguely where he was.  The blankets were soft and clean.  The air smelled of alcohol and - strangely - nitroglycerine....

There were footsteps nearby, and he seemed to be laying on several pillows, supporting his body so that he could lie facing upward without being bothered by his pak.  

His head was lifted and another pillow deposited under it, and fluffed.  Ah.  No beings in the universe were so kind as the gentle mechanoids of Hospitalia.  His tallest must have somehow sensed their most valuable soldier's unease, and sent for help.  With a little effort, he opened his mouth to speak.

"Extremely. . . Cold.  Unable to. . . to function at normal energy level.  And my queb-glort hurts like a VERY. . . PAINFUL. . . _THING_." An odd burbling sound issued from the being at his side.  He heard a soft whirr as what he assumed must be a diagnostic tool was passed over his head.  His pak now just fully functional, his translator was re-enabled.  

". . .speaking in his native tongue.  How fascinating."

"See, Dad.  I _told_ you he was an alien."

Zim opened his eyes. 

He was lying on one of two stretcher-beds in what appeared to be a small infirmary room.  Dib was skulking near the door and, standing beside the bed, Professor Membrane passed his scanner slowly over Zim's belly.  Zim shrieked and snatched the scanner.  He hurled it at the wall with enough force to smash it into tiny, unrecognisable bits.  Terror giving him new strength, Zim rose up on his spider legs and made a dash for the nearest exit.  Dib stepped in his way, sharp spatula raised menacingly.

"Zim, wait.  You _can't_ go."

The Professor approaching from his other side, Zim found himself backed into a corner.  Breathing heavily, he drew the comm. link from his pak.  

"_Gir_.  Mission aborted.  Lock into my co-ordinates.  Send the last destructo-bomb.  Demolish the base and self-destruct.  Zim out."  An device materialized around Zim's right forearm.  It had a lone red button and the words 'self destruct' in bold lettering.  

"You think you've won, _Dib_, but we'll see who's laughing when the Armada comes to destroy this PITIFUL rock of yours."  In an elaborate gesture designed to increase doomey anticipation, Zim drew his finger back in preparation to press the red button.

"Zim _wait!_  We're trying to help you!  You haven't been caught - I mean you have - but it's just me and my Dad.  You know Dad, right?" 

Professor Membrane lifted his hands placatingly.  "We're not going to turn you over to the authorities."

Still panting, Zim halted his deadly finger descent.  "Where am I?"

"This is our infirmary - Dad's infirmary, for lab accidents.  In the basement of our house."

Zim seemed to consider this for a moment, looking back and forth between father and son.  Dib attempted his best look of sincerity and concern, although he didn't succeed as well as the Professor, who could be the epitome of sincere and concerned when he wanted to be.  

"And. . . why is it you say you want to help?"  Not at all convinced, Zim nonetheless began to look very tired - his antennae drooped and his arms began to fall slowly towards his sides.

"Because - you might be pregnant." Dib gestured to Zim's belly, which was, like the rest of him, uncovered.  "And if you are, then it's mine too."

Zim passed his hand thought the air, dismissing the suggestion offhand.  The effort seemed to have winded him, though.  He took a long, shallow breath before he continued.  "Pregnant?  That's. . .that's-" Zim managed to get out before he passed out cold again and crumpled unceremoniously to the floor.

* * * * * * * * * * 

When Zim awoke, he found Dib urgently securing the last of his limbs to the edge of the bed with leather cuffs.  This time he didn't even have the energy to thrash - it was all he could do to keep his eyes open and speak.  

"You'll pay.  You'll all pay.  You'll soon meet the wrath of _Zim_ and wish you'd never fallen out of your mothers' stinking flesh hole."

The Professor leaned over to feel the pulse at Zim's neck.  "Please, don't excite yourself.  I assure you that you're in no danger - surely you understand that, like all life forms, we're concerned about the passing of our genetic material onto a new generation." It took awhile for Zim to figure out properly what the Professor had meant by that comment, but once he did he shook his head groggily.

            "This is PREPOSTEROUS.  _I_ am an Irken soldier.  _How _could _I_ possibly be pregnant?"

"Well, unless you race reproduces very differently from humans, it must either have been artificial insemination or intercourse culminating in ejaculation - and from what my son tells me -"

Zim looked over to Dib, horrified.  "You _inseminated _me?  _Artificially?_"

The Professor, too, turned to Dib, his hands on his hips in his typical 'What have you done now, my poor insane little boy?' pose.  "Son, artificial insemination is not something that should be toyed with.  I'm especially disappointed that you would go about such a thing without the second party's knowledge-"

"-No, Dad, it wasn't - I didn't - artificially - we - I mean. . .it was the _second_ one.  And what are you talking about, Zim?  You were _there_."

"I remember the first part, but nothing of this. . .ejacu-whatsit." 

Dib began rubbing the spot between his forehead where a headache was slowly forming.  "That was when - at the end, when. . ."

Professor Membrane pulled down a helpful animated screen-chart and switched it to the magical journey of the humanoid reproductive juices.  Zim watched the illustrated process and shuddered.  

"Our kind has had no need to reproduce in such a. . . barbaric manner for thousands of years.  Through skillful application of bio-engineering and mechanical enhancement, we've _evolved_ and can now propagate ourselves in tubes.  All organs previously used for reproductive purposes have been rendered vestigial." 

Professor Membrane bent over Zim with his scanner.

"Well, vestigial or not, young. . .er. . .man, it seems you have both an organ for producing sperm and an organ for producing eggs." The scanner, being made to examine human physiology, took a little longer to translate its findings into understandable information.  The Professor waited patiently until he finally got a result he could understand before continuing.  He seemed somewhat surprised.

"Human females are born with a certain number of eggs that are released one by one over the course of their lifetimes.  It appears that it in your case, although you have already been furnished with at least a million eggs, they've all been stored in the same place. A million eggs!  All in one place!"

Zim stared blankly.  "So I've got a million eggs."

"And you had. . .relations. . .with my son."

"So Dib's theory was correct, and one of them's been fertilized.  Fantastic.  That's just -"

"-You don't understand.  More than one of your eggs has been fertilized."

"But we only did it once!  Unless you -" Zim fixed Dib with a disgusted stare "-while I was passed out?  You sick little. . ." 

The Professor turned hastily to enter the scanner's findings into one of his analysis consoles.  "You STILL don't seem to grasp the severity of your condition.  You were storing more than a million eggs.  Human males can release _several million_ sperm at a time."

Zim stared some more.  The Professor punched one last key and the medi-screen flashed to life, showing a visual representation of the findings of the scan. Nestled in the stomach of the translucent Zim on the screen was a glowing mass of eggs, now fertilized and quickly turning into embryos as their cells divided at a frantically growing pace.  At least a million strong.   

"You are not only pregnant.  You are probably the most pregnant person on the face of this planet, and possibly - in the entire _universe!_"


	8. Boy Meets Alien Chapter 7

Author's Note:  Yes, it took me freakishly long to finish this chapter.  My last year of university is proving more difficult and time-consuming than I'd imagined it would be, and I'm sad to say that the next chapter will probably take as long as the last one, if not longer.  I hereby submit my public apology – sorry folks.  Feel free to flog me (rowr).  

And don't panic – I *will* finish the story eventually.  I've already written the last page of the last chapter and it's too good to waste by not writing the rest of it. 

Anyways, once again a big thanks to all of my reviewers.  Thaaaank you.

Marie:  I swear I didn't know about your story until someone told me about it in a review.  And now that I've read it I wish I hadn't because I like it better *whimper*.

Random J. Lurker:  I loved your snippet – it's absolutely hilarious.  I'm honoured that you wrote it.  *bows*  I've been having so much trouble with Professor Membrane in this story, but yours is spot-on; kudos.

Nyssa:  Will your theory prove correct?  Sorry – you'll have to wait two more chapters to find out.

Chapter 7

The sound of Dib's hideous retching could _still_ be heard all the way from Zim's spot near the upstairs hall window.

Wrapped in a mountain of blankets, Zim grumpily smacked his communicator against his palm, trying to figure out why it didn't seem to be working.  Although there was only a one in twenty chance that Gir had actually heard and understood his hasty orders to abort the mission (clearly he hadn't sent the destructo-bomb™), Zim was still worried for the safety of his base.  Whatever Gir was doing now, he wasn't responding to his communicator.  

Minimoose, at the very least, had answered his call.  Having just heard the big news, he squeaked even more often and cheerfully than normal and nuzzled Zim's belly in the intervals when Zim wasn't shooing him away.  The Professor, satisfied that Zim wasn't going to run away (and that he'd made it up the stairs without toppling over), hovered nearby.  

Finally, Zim gave up trying to contact Gir over his short-range communicator and turned to the portable long-range satellite link he'd had Minimoose bring him.

Zim glared at the Professor.  "Do you MIND?  This is kind of a private transmission."

The Professor nodded and backed up a few steps, turning just enough so that he could still see that Zim wasn't going to leap out of the window.  

Zim punched in the latest transmission code to the Massive (which he always took scrupulous care to relocate every time the Tallest changed it).  There were a few moments of static before the Irken leaders, munching on snack foods, appeared on the small floating screen that the Professor had lent him.  

Hampered by his blankets, Zim made a weak salute.  "My tallest."

The pair looked as though their crunch-o-bobbies just went stale.  "What is it _now_, Zim," one sighed.

"I. . .I regretfully wish to. . .request a leave of absence and IMMEDIATE _EMERGENCY_ transfer to Hospitalia.  I have become. . .ill, and am need of. . .a remedy."

The Tallests' antennae perked up.  

"Ill, you say?  How badly?"

"Very badly, my Tallest."

"Very badly?"

"Yes, very badly."

"How very badly?"

"Oh, _quite_ badly."

"With what?" the other Tallest finally chimed in.

Zim wrung his hands.

"I'm. . .pregnant, my Tallest."

Crestfallen, one went back to his snacks while the other rolled his eyes.

"That's impossible, Zim.  I'm surprised even you would come up something as stupid as that.  It's probably just a bad case of sterggs.  Call us when you get better – oh, actually, don't.  Bye, Zim."

Before the Tallest could wave the comm operator to cut him off, Zim shouted out, "Wait!  WAIIIIT!!  It's true, I swear it.  All of the tests I've run point to the SAME conclusion."

"Zim, for one thing – there aren't any other Irkens within five solar systems of that planet of yours to donate the genetic material needed for even a viable double-donor clone.  Secondly – Irkens can't get pregnant!"  The tallest narrowed his eyes.  "Unless you're creating a single-donor clone, which I will remind you is illegal, and in your case _highly_ deplorable."

"No, it's not that.  It's. . .well, apparently _my_ reproductive organs are somehow still functional.  And, well, the second genetic donor. . .*cough cough sneeze*."

"What was that, Zim?"

Zim's face slowly turned a light shade of purple.

"The second genetic donor. . .isn't Irken."

The Tallest looked interested.

"He's. . .human." Zim finally mumbled.  "That's why my NEED to go to Hospitalia is so GREAT.  Not only are human babies quite a bit larger than Irken smeets,  but apparently they can be produced in MASS QUANTITIES !."

Zim reluctantly shifted a few blankets to reveal the bloated mass that was his stomach.  Minimoose squeaked and happily butted his little moosey head against it, causing it to jiggle disturbingly.  Zim grabbed Minimoose and tossed him away, then gestured exasperatedly to his 'little problem.'

"It seems I've got over a MILLION of the little PESTS in here.  If this goes on for much longer, I will SOON be as LARGE as PLANET IRK _HERSELF_."

The Tallest stared.  

Then they burst out laughing, sending snackey foods flying in every which direction.  The one with nummy-slugs still in his mouth had to be slapped on the back a few times before he could breathe normally, only to erupt into still more raucious cackling.  

They screamed with laughter.  They convulsed with laughter.  The comm. panel operators could be seen strewn across their stations, helpless with laughter.

The Tallest leaned on each other and shrieked until one of them fell over, at which point the other waved the signal to be cut.  

A cheery Irkan smiley announced that Massive control was temporarily occupied, but to please stay on the line.  Zim stared at it, waiting patiently and only slightly annoyed.

About ten minutes later, during which Zim had to wave the professor twice back to the portable atomic experimentation set with which he was engrossed, the signal was returned and the Tallest appeared on the screen once more.  Seemingly upright and recovered, they took one look at Zim and started howling again.  When they were finally finished, they wiped their eyes and gave Zim two big, toothy grins.

"We take it you want to go to Hospitalia to. . .get rid of this problem."

Zim nodded.  "My mission is too important to be jeopardized by such a HIDEOUS _distraction_."

The Tallests smiled at each other.  "Mmmhmm.  We have a better idea, Zim.  We want you to keep – whatever happens to come of this – genetic mixture."

"But my Tallest –!!"

"Zim, you have a new mission.  Your mission is now to bring these new soldiers to term, study them, and train them."

"You can't SERIOUSLY demand that I keep these. . .things.  I am _ZIM_!  _Zim _gives birth to no one!"

"Are you questioning our orders, soldier?"  
            Zim deflated, "No, my Tallest.  It's just that, my mission, my old mission. . .what about conquering Earth?  The HORRIBLE pain and destruction I have planned?"

One Tallest rolled his eyes again, the other crossed his arms. 

"Okay, how about you use these new soldiers to conquer your precious _earth_.  Think of it as a testing ground for the brats." 

"If you live though the birth," one added, only to receive an elbow in the side.  

Not catching the last comment, this new mission seemed to be enough for Zim.  The doomey twinkle in his eyes returned.  "Yes, my Tallest.  Thank you, my Tallest."

"Alrighty then, Zim.  Call us when you've conquered the planet," they snickered before waving cheerily and cutting the signal.  

*****

After having passed out for another hour from the exertion of going down the stairs, Zim woke up _once again _back down in the infirmary.  Dib, still looking a bit green, sneered weakly from his spot on the bed across the room.

"I thought Irkens didn't sleep, _Zim_."

Zim shot him a nasty look.  

"We don't normally – this is _your_ fault.  The strain of keeping these half-formed smeets alive must be causing a malfunction in my pak energy regulator."

"_My _fault? –"

"HI!!"  Interrupting a no doubt very heated and stupid debate, Gir stepped calmlyinto the room.  He hopped up to sit beside Dib.

"Gir!  Where have you been?  Did you carry out my orders to destroy the base?"

Gir tilted his head a little to the side.  

"Ah brought you some BEANS, justlikeyouasked."  Holding out his little doggy paw, Gir revealed six dirty bean-shaped. . .things.  He lowered his voice to a whisper.  "They're _magic _beans."  Gir placed the beans lovingly on Zim's blanket-covered lap.

Zim rolled his eyes.

Gir got up and began to jump on the bed that Dib was sitting on.  The extra motion making him nauseous, Dib got off the bed and pulled himself up to sit on the counter.  

"I'm gonna sing ma new FA-vourite song!   Ow.  Ow.  Ow.  Ow.  Ow.  Ow.  Ow. . ."

            The small dog-suited robot punctuated every word with a _sproing! _of the mattress.  

            "Shut up, Gir," Zim winced.  Gir ignored him.

The Professor stepped back into the room with yet more scans and samples he'd taken to his lab to analyze.  

"I take it your decision has remained firm?"

"It's out of my hands – I have NO CHOICE but to keep these smeets."

The Professor sighed.  "I was _afraid _you'd say that."

"Ow.  Ow.  Ow.  Ow.  Ohthepain.  Ow.  Ow.  Ow. . ."

"_Shut. Up.  Gir_."

The Professor pulled down several more vid-screens, which flashed to life with various scans of Zim's insides.  

"I've downloaded some biological charts remotely from the computer coordinates you gave me – and even that combined with my own scans won't be able to predict how this birth is going to take place.  It's going to be risky.  In my opinion – _too risky_."  He threw out his arm, which was lit from behind by a freak bolt of lightning.  

Zim waved his hand in dismissal.  "Yes, yes.  It's risky and dangerous and I'm a brave, hardy soul to put my VERY LIFE in danger to bring these smeets into the world.  This is my MISSION, Professor!  I AM _ZIM!!_  And I will not be defeated by a bunch of slimy alien parasites!" 

"Yes, it will be a very dangerous procedure, but the real problem –"

"Ow.  Ow.  Ow.  getitoverwithalready,dib-beast!  Ow.  Ow.  OW.  OW.  OW. OW.  OW."  Gir's grand finale consisted of an uncannily accurate rendition of Dib's voice in a long moan of release, after which he collapsed onto the bed with one final creak of the mattress.  

Dib made an odd choking sound and fell off the counter as he was attacked by a coughing fit.  Two bright red pink spots appeared on the Professor's cheeks, and he made several "harrumphing" sounds into his hand. 

His face a light shade of purple, Zim grabbed the 'beans' Gir has left on his lap and hurled them at the small dog-robot.  They bounced harmlessly away, but seemed to have done a good job of relieving some of Zim's anger.

"A-HEM.  You were saying, Professor?" asked Zim through gritted teeth.

"Ah.  Yes.  The real problem here is that you'll need constant supervision, and I don't know of anyone in the medical and/or experimental biology field that I would trust not to exploit this chance to study a living sample of alien life.  You may end up undergoing a series of very intrusive experiments in a government laboratory if we turn you over. . ."

"NO!!  I will NOT allow myself to be turned in to another doctor under ANY circumstances!!"

"The only alternative would be for _me_ to stay here and supervise this. . .event."

". . . . . .and?"

"And, Dad doesn't take time off work for _anything_.  Too bad, Zim.  I'm sure he'll find you a nice alternative doctor who won't experiment _very_ much on you."  Dib sneered from over where he was recovering from a painful blow to the shoulder due to his fall.

The Professor stroked his chin through his lab coat collar.  Punching a button on his armband communicator, his goggles lit up by the screen projected inside.

"Simmons, cancel the rest of this week.  Next week too.  SOMETHING'S come up."

There was a pause.

"You mean. . .call Mr. President and have him cancel the next twelve business days due to an impending disaster you've just discovered?"

"No, Simmons.  I mean I'm not coming into the lab for the next twelve days.  Possibly longer."

A horrible choking cough could be heard.

"Shuffle my schedule accordingly, please, Simmons.  There's a good man."

"BUT SIR –" Simmons squealed before Professor Membrane turned off his communicator. 

Dib gaped.  

"DAD!!  You never take time off!!  What about all that stuff about the world not being able to get along without you?"

"EXTRAORDINARY though I may be, I am still a man, flawed by biological nature.  This is a matter for which I _will _take the time off – selfish though I know it is.  This is a FAMILY matter."

"I'm family, and so is Gaz, and when was the last time you took time off for one of us?  This isn't fair!" 

The Professor crossed his arms.  "You and your sister are both alive and well.  Aside from that there is very little I can do as your guardian.  This" he rested his hand on Zim's stomach, only to have it slapped away, "is what I suspect is the one chance I'll ever have to gain GRANDCHILDREN!!  And they have no chance of surviving this birth on their own.  Besides, wasn't it you, son, who asked me to help?  In a roundabout way this is time spent for your sake.  For you, your offspring, and your. . ." the Professor gestured to Zim, "paramour here." 

Zim and Dib both exploded into protest.  

"He is *not* my. . .anything!!!"

"He could not BEGIN to deserve a mate such as ZIM!!  I assure you we're –"

"I'll leave that matter," The Professor interrupted them loudly, "for you to sort out on your own.  Frankly I don't need to know the details."  

Dib and Zim looked away from each other uncomfortably, throwing glares occasionally just to reassure themselves that each still hated the other.

"You," Professor Membrane pointed at Zim, "are amenable to spending the rest of your pregnancy here, under my supervision?"

Zim nodded.

"Good.  You," the Professor pointed at Dib, "have no say in the matter.  Go upstairs and. . .feed the puppy." 

"But _Dad!!_"

Professor Membrane shook his head disapprovingly and pointed Dib out the door.  Dib threw one last glare at Zim and sulked his way out of the lab.  

The Professor turned back to Zim and put his hands on his hips. 

"We'd best make some preparations. The future looks extremely messy."

"YAY!!" screamed Gir.

****


	9. Boy Meets Alien Chapter 8

Author's Note: I've got a legitimate excuse for the lateness of this chapter!! In the chaos ensuing a computer change, half of the chapter I'd already written got erased, and I had to re-write it. *sniff* So the next chapter shouldn't take quite so long.

For all you pervs (and I say that with love) waiting for more sex, I'm sad to say that there won't be anymore until part 2 of the story arc (this part is nearly over). But in consolation I've written a short PWP and posted it to the iz_slash yahoo list and the zimfics livejournal community. Hope you like Zim/Sizz-Lor non-con as much as I do. Yum.

Chapter 8

"Is he done puking yet?" Asked Gaz casually between bites of leftover pizza.

"I think so." Said Dib, having just rinsed out the bucket from Zim's last horrible bout. Just as he was about to knock on wood, the now-familiar sound of Zim's hearty heave began afresh from downstairs.

The pregnancy was not proceeding well for Zim. Aside from a myriad of physical side effects, each more horrifying than the last, his mental state had all but collapsed only two days after committing himself to the professor's care. That has been two solid weeks ago, and he was delirious most of the time now, needing constant supervision since sedation was too risky an option.

Professor Membrane was now taking a desperately needed rest, leaving Dib to watch over Zim and make sure he didn't try to eat Gir. Again.

They'd all tried to keep it a secret from Gaz for as long as possible, which turned out to be about three hours. The news had revitalized her will to live - instead of wallowing in her own anger and frustration, she could now revel in her brother's pain.

"This is what you get for having sex with aliens, Dib." She taunted merrily for the fiftieth time as Dib hung his head and started back down to the basement. 

"My brother's such a freak." Remarked Gaz conversationally to Gir, who was seated across from her at the table drinking a cup of tea.

"I know what you meeean." Replied Gir, nodding sagely.

*****

Once he'd descended the stairs, Dib grabbed the hand-held suck-o-matic from the wall , gritted his teeth, and headed for the infirmary. 

Zim was seated at one of the microscope stations along the counter, slumped over and drooling onto his bloated belly. He'd puked on the floor beside himself, but thankfully had avoided his patients' gown this time - Professor Membrane wouldn't be concious for several more hours and Dib *really* didn't want to have to change Zim himself. 

Quickly cleaning up the mess, Dib stood debating whether or not to move Zim back to his bed. If Zim slumped over any more he might fall over and seriously hurt himself, but chances were that if Dib put him back to bed, he'd be up again soon anyways, dazedly trying to eat the petrie dishes or crawl into one of the cupboards. And Dib felt, well, very uncomfortable picking Zim up, or having any physical contact with him at all. Those gowns were really thin, and when Dib touched Zim he could *feel* his body beneath it, and all of the strange emotions that went along with this sensation. 

Zim moaned a bit and swayed in his chair, forcing Dib's decision. Dib carefully picked him up and began to maneuver him with great difficulty towards the waiting bed. Over the past year Dib had grown about a head taller than Zim, but within the past few weeks Zim had now ballooned out to the size of a, well, an extremely pregnant Irken. He was heavy, but not as heavy as a human his size would be - Dib supposed that was probably because Zim wasn't composed of water as humans were. He was still pretty hard to carry. Dib had to get a good grip on his legs and under his arms, and make sure that his head was laying against his shoulder. The thin gown revealed flesh cold to the touch in some places, warm and even hot nearer to the belly area. 

Zim's skin had actually changed colours three times last week - once to yellow and then to purple, and was now settled to a sort of greenish blue, nearer to the colour Dib knew him to be. He limbs has wasted away to skin and bone, and then puffed up with unnatural mass. He'd started sleeping twenty hours a day, and babbling incoherently whenever he was awake. 

Dib lay Zim down on the bed and tried stepped back, rubbing his arms. It was extremely disturbing to him to feel at close quarters just how sick Zim was, and to know that it was partly, if not fully, his fault. It was also very unsettling to feel in full force the same fascination with and, well, odd attraction to Zim's body that had drawn him in on that night that they'd. . .caused this. 

Biting his lip, Dib reached out and put his hand on Zim's stomach. Struggling to grow and survive in their confined space, his children gurgled and squirmed beneath his hand. They were strong. They'd inherited Zim's ferocity.

Suddenly Zim reached up and grabbed Dib's hand in a crushing grip. His eyes open and alight, Zim glared at Dib with a lucidity he hadn't thought possible anymore. 

"Dib human."

Dib winced and pulled his hand away. "Yeah, Zim."

Zim stared him in the eye and suddenly looked lost again. He reached out.

"Dib. . .human. . ." Zim spoke a few words more in Irken that Dib couldn't make any sense of at all - whatever translation device Zim used had been periodically malfunctioning since this whole thing began, causing him to lapse into his own native tongue. 

"What?" Asked Dib, looking around. "Are you hungry again? Do you want some more wood flakes? Plasticine?"

Zim held out his hand. . .and Dib hesitantly put his own hand back where it was, back for Zim to grasp and ponder and sniff. After examining it for a minute or so, Zim finally tossed it away.

"Your hand is. . .stupid." Zim declared. He closed his eyes and for a moment Dib thought he would retreat back into unconsciousness. But then he opened them again and stared Dib straight in the eye. He seemed a bit out of breath but his voice was clear enough.

"Your eyes are stupid. Your. . .flesh-tentacle is stupid. Your stupid head is so. . .stupid."

"Hmmph. But it's not big." Muttered Dib under his breath. Zim caught it, of course.

"If all of your offspring have inherited your head, then yes, it's far too big. I have to pass them all, remember." Zim looked away. 

These were the first cogent words that Zim had said in at least a week, and though he should probably be happy at this seeming sign of recovery, Dib couldn't help but bristle. Did every word that came out of Zim's mouth have to be an insult? He turned to empty out the handy-suck into the sink. 

"Dib-human?" 

Dib turned back. "Yeah, Zim?"

Zim was still looking away at the wall beside him. 

"Your sire said. . .he called me. . .your mate."

Dib rinsed out the cleaning instrument and closed it back up. "I think the word he used was 'paramour.' They're not the same thing."

"Oh. My translator is. . .malfunctioning. What's the difference then?"

"Well. . ." Dib frowned. "Paramour means somebody who. . .loves you, I guess, somebody that you love too."

"Hmmph. And 'mate' means. . .'bonded,' for genetic compatibility, to create offspring." Zim laid his hands on his belly. "We are not either."

Dib hung the cleaning tool up on the wall for easy access later. He looked at Zim, and then down at his feet. He shrugged. "No, I guess we're not."

Zim seemed to be struggling to stay awake now. Struggling to breath, even. 

"Come here, Dib-human." 

Dib looked once again at Zim, who was staring him in the eye, his expression unreadable. He approached the bed. 

Zim took Dib's hand and laid it on his belly.

"You wanted to feel this? Feel it." Zim's mouth made a hard line across his face. "There are some base species that only bond for a moment. Long enough to copulate. . .to create their young. To mate in this way. That's what we did - I understand now."

"I didn't - I didn't know!-"

Zim shook his head. "We mated. You stupid. . ." Zim took a deep breath. "My stupid mate." Zim looked away. "I. . .You. . .You want your offspring to be. To exist. To survive, yes?"

Dib looked down and shrugged. "Of course I do."

"Well they won't! They're dying! I'm. . .not doing as well. . .as I might." Zim tried to lift himself up, but instead couldn't. Instead he drew Dib in close. "I. . .we need to go to Hospitalia." His voice lowered to barely a whisper. "We. . .need. . .help. I need help. Help. . .please." 

Zim closed his eyes to avoid Dib's gaze. His frown faded and his breath evened out. Dib checked the monitor - he was slipping deep into unconsciousness again. He held Zim's hand a moment more before setting it back to rest at his side. 

Dib sat and watched Zim for a few moments more. Then went back upstairs to rest himself before Zim's next bout - he would undoubtedly need more cleaning and care soon, the way things had been going recently. For now he was glad for the rest, and the time to think.

***************

Punching in the last of the recovered code, Dib stood back waited trepidatiously for the static to clear. It was replaced by an alien smiley face, and what Dib only assumed must be a 'please wait' message.

Then they appeared on the screen - the two very tall Irkens that Dib had seen once before in his life, looking very perturbed. The one with purple eyes started babbling in Irken, and Dib scrambled to find the translator button.

". . .and the rest of your sorry family on planet Seweria for pirating this transmission code."

Dib caught himself fidgeting, but remembered exactly who he was dealing with, and lifted his chin defiantly. 

"You're. . .the Tallest?"

The one Dib had dubbed Purple put his hands on his hips.

"Well, duhhh."

Dib blinked. He hadn't expected them to remind him so much of a pair of bratty teenagers.

"Look. This is Zim's transmittor. . .you know Zim, right? You sent him to conquer Earth."

The two Irkens exchanged a look. 

"Yeah. We know him. How did you get ahold of his equipment? He isn't by any chance dead, is he?" The pair leaned forward expectantly and Dib got a strange sinking feeling in his stomach.

"No, he's not. . .but he's sick."  
The one with red eyes snickered. "Yeah, yeah. Reached a new height of ineptitude and got himself pregnant by some human." 

Dib coughed and tried not to turn red. "Yeah, well, he really does need to your help now. He isn't getting any better, and we don't know enough about his physiology to help him any more than we already have. He's been in some in some kind of coma for the past few days. . .I would have called sooner but his equipment is programmed for self-defence. We think he's dying."

"Oh. Is that all?"

"Boo hoo. We'll send a team to pick up his equipment so you earth-monkeys can't make use of it." 

"What?" The pair didn't seem bothered in the slightest and Dib realized that he really could dislike the two more than he already did. 

"I said, we'll send a team to pick up his stuff. Make sure it's all there because if they have to. . ."

"But. . .you can help him! He said that at this. . .Hospitalia, or whatever - "

"You seem to be assuming that we want to help Zim. Frankly we'll all be happier once he's gone. Right, guys?" Red pointed to a passing soldier. "Hey you - Zim's dying."

"Yay!" The soldier gave a high-five to one of his friends nearby.

Dib gaped. He knew that they must be pretty peeved at Zim for taking so long to conquer Earth, but as far as he knew they were still backing him.

"But. . .he's your operative. You trusted him with this mission-"

"-We sent him to your backwater planet because we wanted him out of our way. It's a punishment, only he's too stupid to have figured it out."

"So. . .you won't help him?"

"No. And what do you care? He's been trying to destroy your planet for the past four years. . .wait. You're that human, aren't you?" The pair looked at Dib like his skin had started oozing purple slime. 

"I can't even express how disgusting we think you are."

"Even though we're very grateful that you've finally succeeded in getting rid of Zim. . ."

"Some things are just. . .wrong."

"And really, really gross."

"Yeah," replied Dib weakly. "Um. . .when are you going to send his replacement?"

The Tallest stepped back from the viewer and cringed.

"Oh, that's just SICK!"

"No! I mean. . .I want to know when I'm going to have to start fighting for my planet again."

"Oh. Rest easy, human. Your planet's not worth the torpedo it would take to destroy it. No resources of any value, and a populace that wouldn't even make decent drink-server slaves."

"Someday, maybe, if we're out your way and we need more crushed rock for our parking structures." Red winked and shot Dib with his finger. 

"Until then, thanks. And make sure to leave Zim's stuff where it is."

Purple waved to one of the panel operators, and the screen faded back to static.

"Yeah." Dib leaned on one of the panels, feeling ill.

  
  



	10. Boy Meets Alien Chapter 9

Boy Meets Alien Chapter 9

            Spuddy gingerly sat down.  He wished the other boy on the bench beside him would take a hint and go away, but he seemed to be preoccupied with his own thoughts, and not likely to bother him, so he supposed he could share the bench for awhile.  It was sort of a cloudy day, the kind Spuddy always suspected would never get better, but as his psychiatrist assured him, always did – if only for a little while.  It had been a long walk from his house.  He leaned back and tried to ignore the sullen boy still sitting there beside him.

Dib sat leaned back on the bench in the middle of the park.  He stared ahead, not really seeing anything.  Except that squirrel over there that was strangely preoccupied with its own crotch.  _Wow, he was really going at it.  Sure is too bad *people* can't bend like that. . ._

"Sex!  Geez!"

Spuddy turned his head.  "What?"

Dib stared at a passing cloud.  He seemed to be a little shell-shocked. "It was only sex!"  

After waiting fruitlessly for further explanation, Spuddy cocked his head, and against his better judgement, asked again, "What?"

Not hearing, Dib continued his conversation with the passing cloud.  Or possibly the self-pleasuring squirrel.  "Not even sex!  Just. . .whatever *that* was.  Geez!  Just. . .geez!"

            Spuddy had an odd feeling in his stomach.  Kind of like he was about to puke.  But his psychiatrist had told him that was just nerves, that he shouldn't be afraid of social contact.  He'd been getting better lately – he could do this.  He swallowed hard.  

            "Um. . .geez what?  How like sex?"  Spuddy asked of the boy beside him.

            Dib looked over, and for the first time noticed the boy on the bench nearby, starting at him with wide eyes.  He was younger. . .no, he was definitely older. . .those eyes were just so curious and vulnerable, like an overgrown puppy.  Dib twiddled his thumbs and looked away, but somehow didn't feel as embarrassed as he usually was at being caught mid-rant.  Something about the boy just made him really want to confide in him.

            "Well. . .I suppose it *was*, sort of. . .But I didn't like it!  I mean. . .maybe I did, a little."  Dib blushed a bit.  "But _PREGNANT!!  _Who gets _pregnant _just – just like _that_?"  Dib stared ahead for a moment, and the bare thought of it made him start hyperventilating.  

            Then he stopped.  "I wonder if I could get onto Mysterious Mysteries again?"  The thought distracted him for a moment, before he remembered why there was a knot in his stomach the size of a very large ham.  

            "AAAAAAAAAGH!!"  Dib screamed finally, releasing several week's worth of frustration in one burst.  

            "What!?  What!!???"  Demanded Spuddy, his knuckles white as he clung to the bench, eyes darting madly.  It had looked to him as though Dib had seen something unspeakably horrible in the sky near them (although in fact Dib saw nothing except the image of Zim in his mind).  

            "And he's having the babies right now-"

            "_He_'s –?"

            "When I _tried _to get help!  I called every planet in his stupid phonebook-file-thing.  It doesn't even matter – it's too late!  My Dad shoved me out of the room but I _saw_ him all. . ."  Dib took a few panicked breaths "All spewing. . .green. . .stuff. . .the same colour as his skin –"

            "G-g-green skin?"  Squeeked Spuddy, eyes wide.  He drew his legs up towards himself in a protective ball.

            "-When he asked me, he _asked *me* _to. . ."  Dib shook his head.  "He said _Dib-human, help me._"

            There was a pause as both parties on the bench wallowed in their own personal hell.  

            "_You?_*You're*. . ._Dib_?"  Spuddy finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.  

            Dib stared off into nothing.  He started chuckling, his voice low and cracking.

            "Heh heh heh. . ."  Spuddy joined in, pupils drawn to a pinprick and a manic grin on his face.

            "AAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!!!"  Dib screamed as the reality of his situation finally made its full impact.

            "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!!!!!!"  Spuddy screamed as his fragile mind began to crumble. 

**************************

Log:  Membrane, Professor   
05/23/15 20:15 UTC/GMT -5 hours   
Subject:  Non-terran carbon-based entity.  (Designated:  Zim)

The subject has been in a coma-like state for 84.31 hours.

Symptoms continued since 05/12/15:   
-Cyber-organic spinal attachment ('Pak') producing energy beyond its normal capacity.    
-All body heat concentrated in abdominal area (loss of nerve functions in 10% of outer limb tissue)   
-Sporadic depletion of energy to non-reproductive organs (enzyme/hormone production glands, digestive tubes, toxin processors (liver), heart, brain) increases at a rate of 3.2% every 24hrs.

Total collapse of peripheral organs (enzyme/hormone production glands, digestive tubes, toxin processors, heart, brain) estimated in 12.39 days.

05/22/15 03:31   
Birthing began 0.2 hours ago.   
Personal notes (audio file):  IT _HAS_ BEGUN!!!

05/24/15 02:10   
Birthing began at a rate of 459.5 feti per minute (27568.75 feti per hour)   
Total feti birthed: 1202701  
Surviving feti:  0  
Sporadic depletion of energy to non-reproductive organs(enzyme/hormone production glands, digestive tubes, toxin processors, heart, brain) in subject (Designated:  Zim) has increased by a rate of 5% an **hour**.    
Personal notes (audio file):   AAAARGHH!   The slime!!  The blood!!  It's horrible!!  So HORRIBLE!!!!!  AAAAARGH!!!!

05/26/15 04:25

Birthing has lowered drastically and steadied at a rate of 8.7 per minute. Total feti birthed: 1247737  
Surviving feti: 0  
Sporadic depletion of energy to non-reproductive organs(enzyme/hormone production glands, digestive tubes, toxin processors, heart, brain) in subject has begun to **reduce** at a rate of 1.4% an hour.    
Personal notes (audio file):  They always told me that it was impossible, but _today_ I have proved them wrong, because I, PROFESSOR MEMBRANE, have PERFECTED the art of the 10 second nap!!

05/28/15 05:42  
Birth rate holding at 5.89 per minute.  
Surviving feti:  4  
Projected total surviving infants (1-day) based on current rate:  44  
Projected total surviving infants (10-day) based on current rate and chance of further abnormalities/complications caused by terran/non-terran genetic mix:  15  
Personal notes (audio file):  _III_ have achieved GRANDFATHER status!!!

05/30/15 15:54  
Birthing ended 30 minutes ago.  
Scans show no further birth-organ related activity.  
Feti total:  1,276,382  
Surviving feti total:  17

Status of subject (designated: Zim):   Total collapse of peripheral organs (enzyme/hormone production glands, digestive tubes, toxin processors, heart, brain) as well as reproductive organs.  Cyber-organic spinal attachment ('Pak') producing unregulated surges at 2.1% of normal level. 

Personal notes (audio file):  

ZZZzzzzzzz. . .

Professor?  Professor Membrane?  This is Simmons. . .we need you back at the lab, Professor!  We need you like no lab has ever needed a master, like no man has ever needed a woman. . .Professor?  Professor?!?

ZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzz. . . 


	11. Boy Meets Alien Chapter 10

Author's Note:  I know *I* really hate long cliffhangers, so I thought I'd be kind and get the next chapter out as quickly as possible.  J

Again, many thanks to those who have reviewed.  I understand that fanfiction.net has been having glitches in their review system (as in, it won't let some people leave reviews).  If this happens to you. . .please, send an email.  You don't know how much I appreciate it.  (And thanks to all those who have done that already – hi, hereticlamprey!)

Oh yeah. . .I've already written the next chapter, but I don't think I'll post it untiiil. . .sometime this weekend.  Just to be mean ;)

Chapter 10

            His head on his hands, Dib sat at the counter in the infirmary, studying his still not-quite-born children.  The clear plastic incubators in front of him held two long rows of eggs, each about six inches high with green translucent shells.

            He could _see_ into the eggs – the tiny beings inside were perfectly formed versions of their 'mother', green skin, antennae, and all.  They didn't have those weird spotted things on their backs, but other than that they weren't even remotely recognizable as human.  His dad has explained it as something to do with alien genes being more suited to the alien birthing process.  Out of over a million possible genetic combinations, these were the ones that survived – Dib couldn't help feeling a bit resentful, as though Zim's bias against humans had somehow resulted in all of the pink-skinned little feti that were piled up dead in cryogenic storage.  

            Dib frowned – his alien children really would be alien.  All of the disguise stuff that Zim had had to go through would be his problem now, too.  His father was already working on a portable holographic device that would allow them to emulate human appearance seamlessly, but there would be other considerations.  Like the fact that Dib would have to cut ties with the Swollen Eyeball Network – contact with them would bring about too much risk of exposing this little secret.  And all the. . .stuff that went along with taking care of kids that Dib couldn't even bring himself to think about.

            The Professor would be arriving soon – he'd finally decided to return to his lab and attend to the growing chaos that was the result of his absence, but he wouldn't stay away long.  He'd estimated that it would still be a few weeks before the alien-children were born, and any unforeseen problems could prove fatal if they were left unattended for long.  

            For now it was just Dib and the eggs.  The bed in the corner held the remains of former Invader Zim, covered in a sheet and awaiting cryogenic freeze.  Professor Membrane wanted to study the 'specimen' – possibly even keep him in a jar for further reference, in order to 'facilitate an understanding of his offsprings' development.'  Dib shuddered.  He knew plenty of others who would give their big toes for the same opportunity.

            There was an odd sound from the corner of the room – like the sound of an electric charge, and a strangled choke.  And then the rustling of sheets.  

            Dib turned.  Zim was sitting up, rubbing his eyes, with creepy little plumes of smoke rising off of his body.  

"Aaaah!!  Zim!!!" Yelped Dib, pointing towards the once-dead body.

            Zim looked over at Dib in annoyance. "Yes, it's a horrible to see your ugly face again too, stink-meat."

            Eyes wide, Dib shook his head in disbelief.  His mouth made little gaping fishy motions.  

            Zim looked behind him, then around at the walls and the bed.  "What?"  He demanded.

            "You. . .you were dead!!"  Dib gaped still.

            Inspecting himself limb by limb, Zim shrugged.  "I guess so.  There's been a bit of tissue damage."  He sniffed his hands.  "Ugh – I'd say about six hours.  I'm going to need an abrasive scrub.  I wonder why my pak took so long to reactivate me."

            Dib lowered his still-pointing finger.  He shook his head and closed his eyes.  Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to calm down – after all that had happened in the past few weeks, what was one more bizarre occurrence?  Why should he even be surprised at all?

            "Zim. . ."  Dib gulped and took another big breath.  He looked over at the alien sitting on the bed across the room, that only a few moments ago he'd thought was dead and gone. 

            Zim raised a brow.  "Yeah?"

            Dib smiled hesitantly.  "I'm glad you're back."  He said, still a bit in shock despite his best efforts to calm himself.  He nodded – his words did seem right somehow.  

            Zim looked at him blankly.  Once again not quite sure where the words had been directed, he looked around.  Returning his gaze to Dib, his eyes narrowed and he snorted.

            "Okay." Replied Zim with a defensive shrug.  Uncomfortable under Dib's gaze, he seemed to shrink a bit.  He looked away and found other things to occupy himself – his pillow, blankets, patients' gown, and the fact that he found that dreadful sleepiness returning to him.  

            Zim propped his pillow up so that he could sit back.  He looked lazily around the room.  "What are those?"  He gestured to the countertop contents that Dib had previously been studying. 

            Dib shook himself out of the remnants of his shock.  He looked over at the clear incubator. "Those are your kids – or at least they will be."  

            Zim looked down and noted that his abdomen was no longer swollen with the parasites that had been so ailing him.  He noted too the relative stability of his body temperature – he could feel his feet again.

            "Doesn't look like a million."

            Dib coughed.  "Most of them didn't survive.  How did my Dad put it. . .some aborted spontaneously because of the discrepancies between human and irken genes, some made it all the way to being birthed, but didn't have an 'ovum shell' to see them through the rest of their development – and, um so on. . ."  Dib looked away.  "Dad was wanting to know what you do with your dead – they're in cryogenic storage now.  On earth we usually just bury them, or burn them. . ."  Dib trailed off.

            Zim shrugged.  "On Irk, dead soldiers are fed into the furnaces that power the smeet facilities.  Or thrown into space with the rest of the garbage, depending on specific location.  It doesn't really matter.  But tell me - how many left?"

            Dib wrapped his arms around himself.  He hasn't expected Zim to be so blasé about the topic – frankly it bothered him a bit.  

"Seventeen."  Dib said in reply to Zim's question.

            Zim closed his eyes.  "Seventeen.  Factor in six percent chance of pak-spinal connection failure – sixteen, and standard eighty-eight percent survival rate of military training – makes it fourteen.  Fourteen new soldiers for Irk – that's good.  My Tallests will be pleased.  Good.  How long until they come out of those. . .things?"

            "About three weeks, according to Dad, but – what was all that about survival rate. . .?  And since when are *our* kids gonna grow up to be soldiers for Irk?"  _Geez_ – Zim was talking about those eggs like they were boot camp recruits.  And Dib sure would have something to say before *his* kids were turned into enemies of Earth.  

            "Since when were they *our* children?  They're mine, stink-monkey!"

            Dib's eyes narrowed.  "They're ours since we traded body fluids and created them.  They're ours since. . .since you pointed out to me that they were ours, and asked me for help."  Two minutes ago, Dib would have given up any and all of the possessions he's accumulated in his fourteen-odd years of life to have Zim alive and well, to be with him and share this responsibility that had been dropped onto both of their heads.  Now here he was shooting him dirty looks and calling him 'stink-meats' and just being. . .so. . _Zim_.

            Zim's eye twitched at being reminded of his moment of weakness – he gritted his teeth.  "And a fat lot of help you were, stink-meat.  Seventeen out of how many eggs?  This stupid backwater planet!!!  I should never have ask _you_!  I was sick, that's all. . delirious.  IN FACT, I was so sick that I don't even remember what you're talking about. . .you're probably making it up.  Why would _I _ever ask _you _for help?!"

Dib lifted his chin.  "Oh no!  You _did _ask for my help.  And I. . .I _tried!  _I really tried to help you!  I called everyone in your co-ordinate list.  Even your stupid leaders just said that. . .that. . ."

"That _what?_"  Zim crosses his arms.

Dib frowned.  "That. . ."  He looked away.  "That the transmission was breaking up. . .that your stupid equipment wasn't working right.  You should. . .you know, update your machinery once in awhile."

"You _stupid. . !!!  _Can't even even get a simple trans-galactic call right!"  Zim's voice became high and reedy.  "_My _offpring!!!!"  He pounded his fists against the bed, glaring murderously at Dib.  Chest heaving from the effort, Zim was forced to lean back down against his pillow.  Affixing Dib with as cold a stare as he could call forth, he waited a few moments to catch his breathe.  

"Get out, Dib-stink."  Zim finally stated.  "I never want to smell your oily hide in my vicinity again.  You'll never get near my smeets.  I don't want them to be exposed to your hideous ineptitude in any capacity."

Dib clenched his fists.  "We'll just see about that, Zim.  They're _my _kids too and if I have any say about it they'll never know what a horrible mother you _might _have been – because you'll be spending the rest of your life in a government lab!"

With that Dib stormed out and Zim was left alone with his thoughts.  And his eggs.  He looked over to where they sat in their incubators.  He wished that he could go over and take a closer look, but he felt so _hideously_ sleepy that he doubted he could even stand up.  

His pak seemed to still be a little dysfunctional – he'd never had to sleep a day in his life before he'd arrived on earth, but now he could feel his energy levels dropping like the great cow-pies of Zantha III.  Zim laid back down on his back.

"Hmmph."  Zim speculated groggily towards the ceiling.  "I wonder where Gir is."

            "AHM RIGHT HEEEEEERE!!!"  Gir popped up from under the covers near Zim, a thermometer poking out of his mouth.  

            "Ah, excellent, Gir.  I want you. . ."  Zim yawned.  ". . .to go back to the base.  Tell the computer to contact smeet factory 307 on Irk with a priority one order of seventeen new paks."  Zim yawned again.  He seemed to be having trouble keeping his eyes open.  "And send Minimoose back with a clean uniform – you can take his place watching the base.  I think I need a little more. . . . . zzzzzzzzzzz"

            Gir spit out his thermometer and saluted Zim, who was now passed out.  "Yes, Master.  I obey."  Then he reached under the covers, pulled out the other thermometer, and stuck it into Zim's slack mouth.  

            *****

            About three hours later, Gir returned with a very dirty piggy which he'd mysteriously picked up, having wandered the neighborhood, gotten lost, and returned to Zim for further instructions.  

            The second try yielded similar results, only this time some very interesting used women's underwear (where did he get this stuff?) being the result.  

            The third try he actually made it to the base and sent Minimoose back with a clean uniform, but forgot what he was supposed to order from Irk and ordered a bag of salted cheese instead.  This Zim found out when he contacted Gir to confirm his order, and wisely decided to put off requesting the new paks until three days later, when he was able to get up and do it himself.  

            Zim had to pull the last few strings he had on Irk, but the paks arrived about three weeks later, just in time for the first smeet to fall, slimy and limp, out of its shell.  


	12. Boy Meets Alien Chapter 11

Chapter 11

            "But Daaa-aaaad!!"

            "No buts, son.  Who'll take care of those children if their mother is being dissected?  Would _you_ be prepared to take on that responsibility?"

            Dib grimaced.  "Are you kidding?  I'm _fourteen._"  

            "Exactly."

            "Well. . .couldn't _you_ take care of them?  You could bring them with you to your lab – maybe they could live there.  They'll probably need doctors and stuff around anyways.  They could be your new big project."

            "Son, I'll admit that monitoring their progress will be a remarkable opportunity, but it's not one for which I'm willing to abandon my other projects.  I will see them regularly, but it's best if the actual child-rearing was left to their mother, who had both the time and the inclination."  The Professor put the finishing touches on the device he'd been working on.  "Besides, you know Simmons isn't to be trusted around children."

            Dib shuddered.  "Good point.  But –"

            "_No more buts._"  The Professor stepped out of his lab and into the infirmary, where Zim was sitting near the incubator, making adjustments to one of the tiny paks.  "You will _not_ turn him in.  That is my final word."

            Even though the lights were dimmed so as not to irritate the newborns' sensitive eyes, Dib could see the glint of Zim's teeth in a very satisfied grin.  He would have given a_ lot_ to be able to go over there and wipe it off of him – preferably in some kind of nasty way.  

            "Well. . ._you_ believe me now, don't you Dad?  That I'm not crazy – that there _are_ aliens."

            The Professor handed the small device to Zim, then turned and put his hands on his hips.

            "_Yes_, indeed.  You've done a fine job of finding extraterrestrial life on earth, son.  However, the events of this past month have given me cause to have even less faith in your sanity than I had previously.  In fact, I plan to arrange for you to have access to a very good, very _discreet_ psychiatrist starting this school year." 

 "Guh. . ."  Dib stared in despair, his jaw and arms slack.

            The Professor shook his head and turned to Zim.  "Is it functioning to your satisfaction?"

            Zim fiddled with one of the instruments he currently had inserted into an opening in the tiny pak.  The pak glowed for a second, then seemed to disappear, replaced by a miasma of mottled light.  

            "It seems to be functional.  I will contact you if it needs any adjustments."

            The Professor nodded and took his leave.  Dib stared after him for a few seconds, then turned to Zim.

            "I hate you."

            "Heh heh.  You sure do."  Zim chuckled to himself and opened up the incubator.

            Dib tentatively stepped forward to see what was happening.  Zim seemed to be in high spirits for the moment.  Ever since he'd woken up he'd done his hysterical best to keep Dib out of the infirmary – screaming and throwing beakers full of chemicals until it wasn't safe for Dib to set his big toe inside the room.  Even Gaz had been down to see her nieces and nephews since they'd started hatching, answering all of his burning questions about them with a shrug.  'They look like Zim' was the most information he'd gotten out of her. 

Dib's jaw clenched in resentment.  This would the first he'd seen of his children.  

Inside the incubator were several gooey piles of shell remnants, but only one egg still intact – relatively.  Its shell was almost paper-thin, stretched and riddled with cracks.  The minute form inside was just about bent in half, its bulbous head obscuring the rest of its body.

Zim ran a scanner over the remaining egg, then pronounced, "TIME to be BORN, soldier!"  He prodded the egg ungently with one gloved finger.  The overtaxed shell gave way and the tiny smeet plopped out of the other side.

"Um. . .is it alive?"  Dib asked.

The smeet lay unbreathing, staring blankly at the wall with its huge yellow eyes.

Zim ignored Dib, instead concentrating on the newborn smeet.  He picked it up and punched two small holes in its back with one instrument, then swiftly inserted the remaining pak into its place.  Touching a small rod to its chest, he gave the smeet a jolt of energy that brought it to life.

The smeet stood up unsteadily.  Zim studied it carefully.

"No evident pak instability.  Good."

Zim passed the scanner a few times over the smeet while it stood, still as a cornstalk.

Dib stared at the newborn.  "What are you going to name it?"

Zim finished his readings, then turned his full attention back to the smeet.  "Off-world paks are manufactured with name designations."  He addressed the smeet, "What is your name soldier?"

Dib sneered, "Babies can't talk, Zim–"

"Wenn.  My name is Wenn."  The smeet looked up at Zim expectantly.  Zim put down the scanner and held out his arm.  The smeet grinned and jumped up to latch on tightly.  Zim pulled out a rag from his pak and proceeded to wipe the smeet free of slime.

"Irken smeets, once born and bonded with their paks, have rudimentary language skills, intermediate motor function skills, and knowledge of elementary military strategy.  As you can see, far superior to _human_ wormbabies."

Once finished cleaning the smeet, Zim turned and tucked it into one of the rows of nest-beds occupying a large, multi-layered glass container.  There it sat with its siblings, studying its surroundings with curiosity.  

"They won't have access to the Great Download until they're older –the Tallests wish for their upbringing to be an experiment of sorts."

Dib stared at his offspring.  They were, without question, _smeets_ – not children.  It was nearly impossible to tell that they had any human genes in them at all, except that a few of them had three fingers instead of two, and some, like Wenn, had eyes coloured a deep amber, like Dib's own.  Some of the smeets stared back at him, though most seemed to be preoccupied with looking up at Zim, who bent to polish a few slime-spots he'd missed earlier.  One of them smiled and held out it's arms.

"Mama!"

Zim pursed his lips and patted the smeet's head, unsure of what to make of this impulsive affection.

Dib shook his head.  "You're going to be the worse mom ever."

Lowering a glass lid down over his smeets, Zim pressed a button triggering the release of gas into the carrying container that would render them unconscious for transportation back to the base.  

"These will be the greatest Irken soldiers this age had EVER seen.  Oh such destruction will they reign down on the universe!"  Zim declared proudly.

Putting his hands in his pockets, Dib shrugged.  "You can believe whatever you want to, Zim.  I'm sure you'll have a real fun time raising all _seventeen _of them by yourself."  Dib frowned.  He didn't have the energy to fight Zim anymore, and he had the feeling that it would just be a useless struggle anyways.   "Just remember that. . .you know. . .I _tried_ to help."

"Hmmph."  Replied Zim.  With the press of few more buttons the smeet-carrier lifted itself to hover gently a few centimeters off the ground.  "Out of my way, Dib-stink."  He said as he tugged the carrier behind him by leash, leading it out of the infirmary and towards the vootcruiser waiting outside.  

Dib waved halfheartedly, more to the smeets than to Zim.

Zim, who had made a point of brushing up on his earth insults lately, turned around, pulled down one of his lower eyelids, and stuck out his tongue.  

Dib shook his head as he watched them go.


	13. Boy Meets Alien Epilogue

Author's Note:  So ends the first part of the epic saga.  The prologue of Boy Meets Alien part II will be posted within the hour.  I'd like to dedicate this chapter to Nastyface, who sent me the _nicest_ review I could ever hope for.  You're a doll! 

            Mired in a pile of com-pads, Minimoose sipped in the cup of coffee sitting on the desk where he'd made his perch.  It had been a long night.  The calculator in front of him was on its last battery, and the long string of figures winding down to the floor attested to his work.

            Nearby, Zim sat on ground, leaning up against one of the computer panels, hard at work on a com-pad of his own.  Seventeen smeets milled around him, testing out their unsteady legs and exploring this odd new world they'd been born into.  

            Zim grunted in annoyance as one of them climbed up onto his shoulder to give him a hug.  He really was too preoccupied with the future of his offspring to be concerned about them presently.  

            The base had to go.  It was entirely too small, even for minimal living quarters.  Once it came time for the smeets' training to begin, they would need a facility large enough to accommodate battlefield simulators as well as at least one or two equipment testing fields – away from prying human eyes, of course.  Not only that, but because they wouldn't have access to the Great Download or any of the specialized educational plugs used on Irk, Zim would have to teach them all that they needed to learn _himself.  _Which would be no difficulty for the great and mighty _ZIM_, but he would need the proper supplies and facilities. . .and there seemed to be some sort of problem at the military requisition department on Irk.  All of the equipment he'd ordered in the last week had been turned down, citing that he'd already exceeded his yearly allotment of supplies.  

            They didn't seem to be aware of his new assignment status – he'd sent a dozen messages to the Massive, none of which had gotten a reply.  He needed those supplies _soon_.  He was running out of _food_, not to mention room.  In the few days that he'd had them home, the smeets had grown a whole inch.  The underground facilities of Zim's current base were built to accommodate _his _size – and from the way they were growing it looked as though his smeets might inherit their height from their father's side of the genetic pool.  With seventeen of them, it would be getting very crowded in here _very _quickly.  

            Zim sighed and put the finishing touches on the plans he'd made for a modest base upgrade.  It would hold for a couple of years, by which time he'd hopefully have saved up enough of his personal savings to afford another upgrade, as well as some military training equipment – a few ground rovers, some blaster ranges, maybe a battle-bot or two – nothing very fancy.  

            Minimoose gave a weary squeak and dropped his completed com-pad in Zim's lap.  

            "What the –" Zim held up the com-pad for a look.  

            It seemed to be some sort of investment portfolio, detailing the account activity of a megalo-company called _Zim__ And Smeets Inc_.  It seemed that _ZASInc__. _was about to enter into a number of major investments in nearly three thousand galactic banks of the seven thousand currently in known existence – totaling over ten billion monies in capital that was apparently. . .non-existent.  The investments all borrowed from each other in a huge daisy-chain that had no real currency involved, but that still siphoned interest into a number of accounts that in turn laundered through one of the more reputable arms dealers in the Vega quadrant. . .and into Zim's personal account on Irk.

            "_Hey!_"  Said Zim as he scrolled down the extensive columns of numbers.  "This is a _scam!_"  

            There were enough financial infranctions here to have him jailed for centuries under Irken law, and put under bounty for death by a few of the more violent banking worlds in the galaxy.  _If _they ever caught on and checked their records against each other.  Which they never would.  The galactic banks were known for their secrecy, competitiveness, and above all, their monumental stupidity.  Not only would they sooner scoop out the sums-and-calculations parts of their brain lobes rather than co-operate on any single issue, but if any such occurrence were to take place it would only consist of a five-mile-long table of executive assistants screaming numbers at each other in six thousand different galactic banking languages. 

            All that awaited was to press the go-ahead button at the bottom of the pad to put all of it in motion.

            As Zim arrived to the income tally at the bottom, he held it up to the pathetically cost-effective base upgrade plan he'd been working on.  

            Zim tossed away the ground plan.  "Good job, Minimoose!"  He said.  Giving Minimoose a pat on the head, he pressed the go-ahead button on the bottom of the tally pad.  

Grabbing a fresh com-pad from one of his computer slots and began working on another plan, this one ten times as big as the last.  With this kind of monies flowing into his account, he could afford to settle on a few acres of land outside of the stinking city in which he was currently settled – build a _real _base where he could train his smeets _properly_.  

            Zim chuckled.  It was going to be a glorious couple of decades.

            "YEEE-HAAA!!!"  Screamed Gir, his bodiless head being carried along by a couple of smeets.  

            "Gir!  Where's the rest of you?"  Demanded Zim.  

            "Right over THERE!!!"  Replied Gir, pointing with his antenna to where a group of smeets was dismantling the rest of his body and carrying it away in parts.   "It tickles!!"  He giggled.

            "Hey there!  Stop that this instant!!  Halt!!!"  Zim got up.  The smeets scattered, tittering.  

            The lights in the base flickered and Zim looked over to the computer terminal – there was a breach in the circuitry, coming from. . .right over there!  Across the room one of the panels into the computer hardware had been pulled away.  Sparks could be seen coming from inside of it.  There was the sound of more giggling.  

            "This base is not for taking apart!!  Get out of there this instant!!"  Yelled Zim.  

            "Energy re-rout failed. . .attempting circuit self-repair. . .failed. . .zzarblelleeeeeeeeeeee. . .it is the mandate of the Irken food service industry. . .Mary. . .had. . .a. . .little. . .lamb. . .there was. . .once. . .a girl from. . .Venus. . .aaaheehehehheeheeeeeee!!!"  The computer droned on dementedly, unable to right its programming.  More sparks coming from the ceiling and other panels along the side of the room indicated that the damage was spreading.  

            "I ORDER you to get out of there!!  NOW!!"  Shrieked Zim as the lights went out – and stayed out.  

            Minimoose squeaked as he went to round up the closest smeets.  

            Zim held his breath and tried keep himself from exploding into a fit of rage.  Maybe this whole thing wasn't going to be as easy as he'd hoped.  

End Part I


End file.
